


Intimidation - Deception

by OpheliaLMX



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Astrid is dangerous, Astrid is like level 18 by this point, Caleb was the leader in school, Canon comfy, Charisma 16 Caleb, Competent and terrified Caleb, Gen, Tiefling!Astrid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-11-27 10:06:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18193160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpheliaLMX/pseuds/OpheliaLMX
Summary: The Mighty Nein are meeting up with a contact in Port Damali.Something feels wrong to Caleb, right from the start, but he can't put his finger on exactly what.When confronted with a figure from his past, massively powerful beyond the comprehension of the Mighty Nein, he grasps at straws to try and get everyone - even himself - out alive.





	1. Initiative

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in the same universe as my Ikithon-era fic 'Strong', but is written to make sense separately (since it's all canon compliant).
> 
> 13.07.19 Weird note.  
> So, no spoilers but I reread this after e70, and I actually really adore the first chapter of this.  
> Not so much into the second chapter though. So. Make of that what you will, I guess? I only wanna bring you guys quality. ^^

Caleb knows something is wrong before they go into the building, but he can’t put his finger on it.

It’s not because they’re here to meet a member of the criminal underworld; none of the Mighty Nein feel particularly strongly about the laws of Port Damali, something they seem to share with most of the city’s inhabitants. It’s not the fact that they are looking specifically for a contact they heard about via the Gentleman, either. So far, the Gentleman has not deliberately run them afoul, after all (except possibly for Jester? But that’s still conjecture at this point as they have not actually seen the man since that revelation).

The fact that the entire port city is pretty seedy actually makes it comfortable territory for Caleb, especially since it doesn’t carry the constant threat of violence like one might find in Asarius or Shady Creek Run. It also helps that the population is disproportionately human, but most peoples are still represented here, to some degree. Fjord and Nott are disguised as human and gnome respectively, so the only individual anyone seems curious about at all is Caduceus.

Still, something is wrong.

 

“Halt, hold on,” says Caleb quietly before they get too close to the warehouse. “What is the plan here?”

“Should we all go in, you guys?” asks Jester uncertainly. “Or just some of us, maybe.”

“I would feel better if somebody was on watch,” says Caleb.

“Really?” This is Fjord. “I mean, it’s just a friendly visit, right? Friend of a friend, lookin’ to pick up some work.”

 

They are not too close to the warehouse yet; Caleb has pulled the group up a couple of hundred feet away, to stand on one of the dirt roads of the Port Damali industrial district. The street is quiet and grey as they sky is overcast, and each of the buildings along the road is surrounded by trees and other greenery. Some of the shrubs are similar to ones Caleb has seen in their travels, especially in Nicodranas, but others he has never seen before. In the air can be heard the sounds of hammering and metal against metal from smithies, roaring of furnaces and shrieking of wood of glassworks, and the only people visible out on the street are three human men on the other side of the road a little ways away, who seem to be on a break. They don’t seem to take any note of the Mighty Nein.

The warehouse is unmistakable, with black painted, boarded over windows, exactly as described. Caleb only feels more uneasy.

Maybe it’s because the building itself looks grungy without actually being dirty, dilapidated without anything actually being broken. Caleb pauses for a moment to pick up a handful of the rusty, sandy dirt of Port Damali reflexively, intending to shove it in his pocket. Just in case. In his fist, he can feel that it is too thin, too dusty and dry to leave much of a mark. Besides, he is a team player and is thus unlikely to duck off and leave the rest of them behind to try and melt into the background any time soon.

He drops the dirt back on the ground and brushes hands against his coat.

 

“What are you doing?” asks Beau as Nott asks,

“What’s wrong?”

“This warehouse is working very hard to not be noticed,” says Caleb.

“I think that’s just what important criminals do, Caleb,” says Jester.

Caleb shrugs.  
“We could always talk to somebody else,” he says, though he knows it will be shut down. This place has been hard enough to find given all they had to go off was the name the Gentleman had given Fjord – ‘Iris Trimple’.

“Look-out sounds like a good idea,” says Beau. “If we bring Caleb in, leave Nott outside, we can communicate if we need to.”

“I’ll stay with Nott,” says Jester.

 

At least there will be a look-out, Caleb thinks they make to one of the large trees closest to the warehouse, and crowd in. They are not planning anything big today so, with the cover of his friends’ bodies, Caleb changes his appearance into that of a slightly taller man with long, dark brown hair and a physique befitting a brawling sailor type. Caduceus matches him quite similarly, to look like a taller, younger brother perhaps, and Caleb turns Beauregard into a stately, white-haired elven woman. She feels her elegant, now-pointed ears with mild curiosity.

They leave Jester, Nott, and Yasha by the tree, and at the last minute, Caleb summons Frumpkin to wait with them.

“I really don’t understand why this is necessary,” says Caduceus, though he seems curious as opposed up upset with the disguises. “We’re new to this city. It could be a good thing to meet some friendly faces.”

“I would prefer to play it safe,” Caleb tells him. “If they are as you say ‘friendly faces’, then perhaps they will understand our precautions. I am – not comfortable at all. Not comfortable with this place.”

That makes Caduceus look even more curious.

“I don’t know why,” says Caleb just as the elf that is Beauregard opens her mouth. “Better safe than sorry though, ja?” She shrugs. Beauregard is not complaining though; she seems pleased to be an elf for a while.

 

The outside of the warehouse is mainly dirt, but there is a short path of dark cobblestone leading to a small stable. The path looks old, but not crumbling, and there is no sign of anything in the stable. As they get in closer to the building, they can see that the door is very slightly ajar, which is unexpected. Fjord, in his increasingly familiar guise of an older human man, glances to Caleb, Beau, and Caduceus, but they can only really shrug.

Human-Fjord raps at the door carefully, and it swings half open just from the gentle force of his knuckles. Caleb can see a little flicker of lamp light inside, and they hear a voice. It’s light, quite cheerful. Sounds quite young.

“Come in please!”

Fjord warily raises one hand slightly at his side; Caleb recognises that he is preparing to summon his falchion. With the other hand, he pushes open the door. Inside, they see a small, functional entrance room – possibly a waiting room – with two wooden benches and dull grey-brown panelled flooring. A lantern indeed stands on a small side table between the two benches, lighting up the room since the windows are boarded shut.

Fjord hesitantly steps into the room with Beauregard on his heels, and as he does so another figure jogs into the room from the only other entrance – a wooden door right at the back, opposite the further of the two benches. He appears to be an adolescent half-elf. His hair is black, one side of his head shaved, and he wears neat leather armor and a shortsword at his side. He stands in the centre of the room, pushing his hair behind his ear.

“Come in, please,” he says again pleasantly. “Are you expected?”

“Of course, where are our manners,” says Fjord. The room easily has space for them, so standing halfway out the door does look odd. Human-Fjord and Elf-Beauregard move forward, and Human Brothers-Caduceus and Caleb file in after them.

“Are you expected?” the boy asks again. He still looks cheerful, but his eyes scan over all of them, searchingly. Caleb reluctantly closes the door behind him.

“Not quite,” says Fjord apologetically. “We’re here to see Iris Trimble. We ah – we bring many gifts.”

A look of understanding passes over the boy’s face.

“Okay, that’s great,” he says. “I’ll deliver the message. Who shall I say is calling?”

“You can tell her it’s the Mighty Nein,” says Fjord just as Caleb is opening his mouth to say – well, almost anything but that, to be honest. The elf looks over them again; there are of course only four.

“We’re representing them,” adds Beauregard.

Fjord nods.  
“Thank you-?”

He is clearly fishing for a name, but the boy doesn’t give one.  
“I’ll deliver the message,” he says instead, and beams.

The half-elf boy turns back to the room’s other exit and opens the door once more, disappearing into a hallway. Presumably this leads to the warehouse proper – if this is a warehouse, that is. Fjord, Beauregard, Caduceus, and Caleb are all quiet for a moment.

“That was weird,” says Caduceus with a frown.

“Do you think the kid’s okay?” asks Fjord, hushing his voice.

“Definitely something off there,” says Beauregard.

She is looking around the room, evidently scanning for any details that may not have been immediately obvious when they entered. It is really very simple. A bit dirty, like it hasn’t been swept or dusted in a little while, but not offensively so.

Caleb listens for a moment to ensure the boy is gone, and then pulls out his copper wire to message Nott. She is right at the boundary of the spell’s range, but close enough to connect; they were careful about that.  
“ _Nott, we are okay. Something is odd in here though so stay alert._ ”

“ _Should we attack the building?! _”__ Nott replies immediately.

Caleb runs his tongue over his teeth. Before he can cast the spell again, she casts her own.  
_“Are you wounded? Are Beau and Fjord getting you killed?! You can reply to this message._ ”

 _“Not just yet, Nott,”_ Caleb whispers back. _“We are just in a waiting room. Hopefully it is nothing sinister, but I will tell you if anything changes.”_ He is never entirely sure how seriously to take some of Nott’s messages. She always takes his seriously though, so it doesn’t worry him.

 

The door opens again within a couple of minutes to reveal the half-elf boy. This time, he pushes it open fully to give them a clear view of the corridor beyond and allow them through.

“Come in, please,” he says cheerfully, nodding to the space behind him.

“What’s your name?” asks Beauregard directly.

“Henrik,” says the half-elf boy.

Beauregard looks a little surprised, like she had expected him to rebuff the question. He looks at her curiously and doesn’t seem to mind the silence, using the time to search her expression.  
“Nice boots,” says Beauregard finally, awkwardly. “Shiny. I like it.”

“Thanks!” says Henrik, and turns to lead them back into the room behind him.

Human-Fjord, Elf-Beauregard, and Human-Brothers-Caleb and Caduceus follow the half elf in.

 

It’s a long, comfortably wide hallway, lit up by more lanterns near the ceiling. Along the hallway are a few doors, but on the far end to the right seems to be an open archway to a room that appears to be far better lit. The walls and floor are the same dull, wooden panelling as the entrance hall. Henrik walks all the way down to the end, to the archway, and the rest of them follow warily. Caleb really doesn’t like this. He hangs at the back behind Human-Caduceus.

Fjord gives a low whistle as he gets next to the archway.

“Miss Trimble welcomes you,” says Henrik, puffing up his chest, “she will be with you momentarily.”

“Well, thank you,” says Fjord.

He and Beauregard are already in the next room and Caduceus is looking into it with interest before Caleb moves forward any further; he wants to read something - anything - in Henrik’s face from a safe distance. The thing is, the kid just seems friendly. Honestly a bit dim, but he doesn’t appear to be hiding anything.

Finally, as Caduceus passes through the archway, Caleb gets closer and pulls his gaze away from Henrik along to get a glimpse inside.

The room is enormous, and absolutely nothing like the previous hallways.

Instead of the dull light of blacked out windows with lanterns burning, this room is thoroughly illuminated. Steady, magical white globes hang in the air around the room, mostly around the ceiling, and gently drift and bob ever so slightly as if influenced by mystical breezes.

The floor is elegant, off-white marble, and book cases line two of the walls, half filled with thick, well kept but also well used books. Two large, cushioned sofas sit at the opposite angle to the book shelves, and near the middle of the room there is a long, elegant varnished ebony desk surrounded by five matching chairs. Books are stacked on the table, along with a familiar, lone dagger.

 

The whole room is extremely, immediately, painfully familiar actually, and a horrible, violent shiver runs through Caleb’s body.

 

The elf that is Beauregard has crossed her arms and is looking at the nearest bookshelf with disinterest, while the man that is Caduceus seems entranced by the sea of lazily floating bulbs of light. The older man that is Fjord has his hands in his pockets.

Caleb’s mind is racing. There is not – cannot be – hesitation. Caleb gives himself just a fraction of a second to think of shameless, easy words, used by a tiefling after an evening of bullshitting his own way out of peril. _I like pretending, pretending’s great._ It will be fine. And if it’s not fine, they will all be dead, and he will blame Molly. But it should be fine.

“Henrik,” Fjord begins (no time to prepare, no time to think), “is-”

“Silence!” Caleb orders, voice pushed louder and more certain than he has perhaps ever spoken in front of the Mighty Nein, and he dismisses his disguise altogether before entering the room. Back straight, eyes sharp.

Caleb can feel his pulse racing, and he makes sure his hood is pushed all the way back, surreptitiously running fingers through his hair to ensure it is not fluffed up and no flowers have been snuck in there. There are none. Now only a few feet from the centre table, one of the books catches Caleb’s eye and he can’t help but to place his hand not on his spellbook, but on the book that is fastened to his other side, just for a moment, just to make sure it is there. It is.

The rest of his team are silent, and their unfamiliar yet dumbstruck faces are all the more reason for Caleb to demand the attention. It’s like putting himself between Nott and a suspicious guard eager to hunt goblins, except much, much more dangerous.

“Show yourself immediately!” he commands of the empty room, loud and firm, scanning. “You are not fooling anybody with this!”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the elf that is Beauregard open her mouth to speak, and he raises a hand. Fire swirls in his palm but goes out.

“ _Silence,_ ” Caleb repeats blisteringly. He turns his head to face her, silently pleading for trust. He has done these calculations in his head, and on paper, over and over, thinking how much he has learned in just a couple of months, how much he didn’t learn over the past sixteen years.

‘Henrik’ is standing off to the side near one of the lounges, facing the four of them still with his vague, dim smile.  
“Miss Trimble requests that you not use magic,” he says apologetically.

Caleb summons flame to his hand, now deliberately, and shoots it directly through the teenage half-elf’s head.

The disguised figures of Fjord and Caduceus both startle, and magic flickers automatically over Caduceus’s fingertips for one moment, then another, as he processes that the boy is unaffected. He isn’t real. Beauregard doesn’t say anything, thank goodness, and Fjord seems to take Caleb’s dropping of his disguise as a cue and follows suit, becoming half-orc once more and raising both hands slightly to indicate his compliance. Caleb swears internally, but there’s nothing he can do about it now, so he nods his appreciation.

 

There is a slight noise from somewhere inside the beautiful room, though nobody is there.

 

“Miss Trimble requests that you not use magic,” says ‘Henrik’ again, as if a fire bolt hadn’t just been shot right through his head. His creator has faltered.

“Astrid, show yourself immediately!” Caleb roars as forcefully as he can as he rounds back upon the empty room, panic mounting because this has to _work_. “You have to be stronger than this and collect yourself, because _I do not have time for this!_ ”

After a fraction of a moment, there is movement at the back of the room. From behind the back wall.

 

A tiefling steps in, directly through one of the illusory book cases. It appears to melt around her and reform once she has moved out of the space. She looks shaky and stiff, and the image shakes Caleb somewhere deep.

Astrid looks like herself, and yet not. Bren recognises her features, her pale, eggshell blue-green skin, her jet-black hair, long again and held together in two immaculate braids. Her tiny, white horns, her tail curled around her own ankle, the knobbly joints of her elbows. Her dark grey eyes, wide. Very wide.

She looks thin, and wears long, white and yellow robes. Assembly robes, though more casual than the ones they would usually wear to events. Whether these colours denote any particular level of power or authority, Caleb can’t say. Most of what he knows about the inner workings of the Cerberus Assembly, he learned in Trent Ikithon’s office sixteen years ago.

Astrid looks shocked. Teetering between disbelief and – rage? He thinks it’s rage; it’s been a long time. Her fingers start tracing familiar symbols in the air, swifter and more elegant than they ever were, and Caleb can see the elf form of Beauregard take a combat stance, and the thankfully still disguised Caduceus and completely undisguised Fjord immediately begin two very different incantations of their own.

Caleb takes a calculated gamble on what these three spells will be, and dispels Fjord’s before it can take effect. Thankfully, Caduceus casts some kind of familiar, warm blessing, and even more thankfully, Astrid was indeed simply trying to dispel any magic on Caleb. The spell he uses to armour himself is gone, but it doesn’t really matter; Astrid’s power by this point would render any such shield pointless.

Caleb raises a hand to the Mighty Nein members in the room.  
“This is a misunderstanding; stand down,” he commands in a way that he never, ever commands them, in a voice they have not been trained to obey – but he desperately hopes they will anyway. “Astrid, stand down,” he tells Astrid in a voice she hasn’t been trained to obey since she was in school, but apparently that kind of thing sticks. He eases off to add, “It is really me.”

Her mouth opens and closes, and the room is silent for a short, heavy moment.

“Are you sure?” whispers Astrid. Her accent has softened, far, far more than Caleb’s has.

Despite himself, Caleb feels the corner of his mouth quirk into a half-smile.  
“I am sure.”

“We – buried you,” she says. Her voice is rougher than Caleb remembers it, from emotion or strain over the years. Years that have apparently included Bren’s ‘death’. “Bren, we wanted to try and bring you back, but Master Ikithon said…” She trails off, pain in her voice.

“No body,” says Caleb softly.

“What? No, of course we saw your body,” says Astrid. “The… body.”

Caleb steels himself. Wants to press for information, but now is not the time, especially if she has already sent word out about what has transpired. There are a good twenty-six seconds unaccounted for, before she emerged from her illusory hiding space. But Caduceus, with his sensitive ears and patient attention to detail, hasn’t given any indication of having heard anything, so Caleb allows himself to hope.

“You did not bury me,” he tells Astrid. “Obviously, I am no dead man.” He swallows, feigning a renewed sense of alarm as if it hasn’t been thundering in his head this whole time. “Have you communicated with anyone since I came in here; it is not to be public. You are not supposed to know!”

Astrid shakes her head, movements jerky. She opens her mouth to speak, but Caleb interrupts pre-emptively. Calculates, and gambles again.

“Good,” he says. “Tracy, Clay, you need to get out of here and report back to Jannik that our information was bad. Astrid is still here; she’s fine.”

No response.

“ _Now,_ ” he bites out firmly. “I do not have time for your shit.”

He risks a look to the side.

The elf that is Beauregard gapes. Caleb knows that not taking orders gets right down to the core of her – he is aware, and he is aware that this has not been discussed in advance. He can feel his eyes brighten with tears of desperation for her to please, please hear this message and trust him right now, to just take the order, just this once. He wills his tears away. Bren knows how to will away tears.

Caduceus looks confused, but walks slowly over to Beauregard.

“Astrid, drop the illusions,” Caleb commands, back to Astrid, back to focus. He steps forward closer to the centre table, where sits for whatever reason an illusory version of a book very personal and special to him. Pokes his toe through the illusory chair.

“What?” says Astrid. “What are you doing with these people, Bren? The Mighty Nein are dangerous, vigilante, Krick-sympathising show ponies.”

“That is what I needed, so I hired them,” says Caleb. “Now _lift the illusions, Astrid!_ ” he adds, hardening once more because they need to get out of here before she adjusts to this onslaught of information.

She hesitates, so he surges forward, stepping straight through the table in the centre of the room as if he is used to seeing this kind of magic on a daily basis, and standing at his full height, which is almost exactly the same as hers.

“Who are you even trying to fool?” he asks, with the hint of a sneer. “Academy lights in the middle of Port Damali, really?”

“That’s not fair,” says Astrid, actually flushing slightly teal, which is a relief because it means Caleb does still hold some power here. Somehow. “You don’t know my assignment.”

Never the less, her hands move quickly, performing complicated, swift symbols Caleb has never seen for magic he does not and cannot comprehend; matching Astrid now is so far beyond his capacity it makes the selfish coward in him want to back down and beg for mercy.

The bookshelves and table she copied from Trent’s library, the listless lights, marble floors, and lounges she copied from the Soltryce Academy, and indeed ‘Henrik’, probably copied from someone she has met over the past decade and a half, all melt away at once, with barely a shimmer.

“Well, that’s something,” Caleb hears Caduceus murmur from behind him.

The room is left plain now. It is just a warehouse, with one enormous lamp hanging from the ceiling and emitting light as bright as the daytime outside. Illusory bookshelves had hidden the one large, open window of the building near where Astrid had emerged; outside Caleb can see trees, perfect. There is also a desk carrying an arrangement of objects – books, a clock, some kind of spinning widget – and a comfortable looking chair. On the floor are two teleportation circles – sending and receiving. If Caleb’s heart had not already been racing, it would begin now. He desperately hopes Astrid was telling the truth when she said she had not contacted anyone.

The good news is that there are no walls or doors between here and the front entrance door to the warehouse. Henrik was the only one to appear to touch them. Caleb honestly doesn't know what would have happened had he or any of his companions tried.

“Of course I know your assignment, Astrid,” says Caleb, sharp but not unkind, even as his mind spins into hyperdrive trying to work out what she could be doing here and why, and why it is such a long term assignment that it would involve teleportation circles in a warehouse in Port Damali. “Now hurry up and make yourself scarce, Clay, Tracy-”

“We know, we know, tell Jannik, information bad, Astrid’s still here,” says Beauregard and Caleb could kiss her because she is actually trusting him – following his order – and marching to the warehouse door, followed by their human-disguised-firbolg.

“What do you want me to do?” asks Fjord, drawing closer to stand to Caleb’s left, and Caleb could kiss him too because he is playing right along and not saying anything to upset this already tenuous exit strategy.

“You’ll be transporting us to report in shortly,” says Caleb.

Fjord gives an amicable salute.

“Seriously, with these people?” says Astrid as Beauregard and Caduceus exit the warehouse. Caleb begins timing in his head, each second since they have left.

“We are at war, resources are short.”

“I have to report in,” says Astrid, tiredly rubbing one hand against her eye like she still can’t believe what is in front of her eyes. “On whose authority are you here? Why did they think I was gone?”

“You know better than that, Astrid,” says Caleb. “I did not fake my own death for a comfortable day job; I cannot tell you that sort of thing.”

Astrid swallows.  
“Right, of course,” she mumbles, shaking her head. She takes a moment, then looks him up and down again, her breath still slightly unsteady although, Caleb notes, she seems to have overcome the initial overwhelm of seeing a ghost. “Bren, does Master Ikithon know you’re still – that you’re-”

“Trent was… instrumental in my disappearance,” says Caleb.

He hears Nott’s frantic voice in his head.  
“ _Caleb! What’s going on! Are you – shut up Beau, I’m talking to Caleb! You can reply to this message._ ” They are at least a hundred feet away.

“I have to check in,” says Astrid as Nott is talking. “This is – absurd.”

“As do I,” says Caleb, ignoring Nott. “But – this is a mess, Astrid, you have no idea. I was expecting carnage.”

She sighs warily, one hand doing for her pocket and the other raised slightly to begin tracing an arcane sign.

“ _Wait,_ ” he says sharply, not quite aggressive, but pointed and familiar enough to get her to stop. “I need to take information back with me. Tell me what you have found.”

“ _Caleb! We’re leaving and we’re going to hide! If you don’t want us to do that, cough once! You can reply to this message._ ”

Caleb feels a flood of relief. If they’re running, it will be fast.  
“ _That would be great for me,_ ” he adds, to Astrid but also to Nott. “ _I will be on my way before long._ ”

Astrid narrows her eyes at his odd wording and impossible request; her hand still withdraws from her pocket, though, and she crosses her arms.  
“You know better than that, Bren,” she says. “Whoever is your superior will need to speak with Lord Uladan. Or – I apologise, I have no idea of your rank…”

“I will contact him,” says Caleb enigmatically. He considers for a moment. Another gamble. “But ah, would you do something for me? Don’t tell anybody. About this – about me.”

“Bren…”

“I did not tell you for sixteen years; it may have been sixteen more. You know I would never have disappeared had there not been something drastically important.”

She looks skeptical, and Caleb notices her eyes beginning to glance over in Fjord’s direction, presumably to get a better look at him. Even if conversations like this are common within the Cerberus Assembly (which they may well be; Caleb has no idea), it would presumably not be acceptable with a hired mercenary in the room.

Caleb steels himself for the last ditch, and steps forward to Astrid, into her personal space (and badly compromising his own) to look her in the eye and hold onto her shoulders.  
“I have missed you, Astrid,” he says. That part is honest. “Do you…”

He trails off, and looks down at her shoulder with calculated bashfulness. This feels very wrong, but he honestly cannot let Astrid have a clear image of Fjord in her mind.

“Bren?”

“Do you still believe in love?” he asks, telling himself his burning face is on purpose.

Astrid is not so embarrassed.  
“Yes,” she says. “Without a doubt… But I don’t think I believe in love between teenagers.”

There is a moment of silence. _Oh_.

“I am wounded,” says Bren, and tells himself he is lying.

Astrid reaches forward to pat his collarbone through his ratty coat, eyes flicking to it with disgust only briefly.

“Be stronger than this,” she says. “I know you can be. I always knew you’d end up doing something terribly important.”

Bren – _Caleb_ – pulls back his hands, rubbing them together. He has to get out, this is too much. If not for her own complex feelings on the matter, whatever they may be, Astrid would absolutely have seen through the ridiculous farce by now, he is sure.

Last gamble. He casts a spell.

In one minute, she will know he was manipulating her. This is all the time he can buy.

Caleb feels the connection afforded by the spell, giving him the influence of a far greater friend and trusted confidant.  
“I need to report in,” he tells Astrid, stepping backward slightly. “As, I understand, do you. But Astrid, I think you need to speak with Lord Uladan face to face.”

Astrid frowns.

“This is all pretty shaky ground,” Caleb adds. “Quite – sensitive. Set up your illusions once more, and then teleport to him, to meet. Please, trust me.”

She sighs and nods.  
“Alright.”

Astrid gives a reluctant, for now trusting half smile, and turns to the desk near the window, picking up her spell book.

Heart racing in his chest (almost over, almost over) Caleb turns away from Astrid to Fjord, whose expression is completely unreadable.

“Big,” he whispers, almost silently. “Sell it, and step us out.”

Fjord nods, and again Caleb is almost overwhelmed with disbelief that these ridiculous people are going along with this.  
“Ready to go?” Fjord asks, sounding official.

“Bren,” says Astrid, presumably turning back around. “Will I see you again, or-?”

Black, smoky flames start to swirl around Fjord’s feet, and Caleb steps close enough that they encircle his own body too. He has no idea what they do. Then, with a thundering boom, Fjord grabs his arm and they are suddenly gone from the warehouse, outside and surrounded by trees. Caleb allows himself a shaky glance back.

They are only about fifty feet from the warehouse; Fjord’s magic can only transport him to places he can see. Through the building’s one window, Caleb can see the last whisp of dark flame dissipating inside, and Astrid stepping towards it. That is all he allows himself.

“Run,” Caleb says under his breath.

Fjord seems to have expected this.  
“Yep.”

 

They run.

 

Caleb counts down in his head, how long the spell will last. It’s not like Astrid is charmed, just that she currently thinks of him as a friend who gave her genuine advice, in her best interests, and that was to re-enchant the warehouse before leaving. So, hopefully, that means he and Fjord will have at least an extra forty to fifty seconds to get out of sight.

While Caleb himself may be impossible to find thanks to his pendant, Fjord is not, so if Astrid has expanded her capabilities with Divination magic, there could be trouble. On the other hand, Astrid was never, ever good at Divination magic.

Hopefully, she won’t know it.

If she does, hopefully she won’t be able to cast it today without study.

Hopefully, she won’t have enough information about Fjord to communicate on to a third party for their own divination.

Hopefully.

 

When they are fully out of sight of the warehouse, Caleb scans for a dip in the nearly bare ground. Grass half-heartedly is attempting to grow under the shade of the thickening trees, so there’s no uniform colour per se, but this is all he can think of to try and hide.

“Hold up,” he says, stopping abruptly as he finds a place, and immediately yanks out a glass bead. Ordinarily, he has the time to spend, but if there was ever a time Caleb was prepared to exert more magical energy to make a dome faster, it’s now.

Fjord jogs to a halt, looking perplexed but not about to start arguing now.

“You know, we’re going to need to have a real serious talk, you and I,” he says. Caleb hears the comradery still in his voice, somehow, though there is an edge of - perhaps suspicion, but he doesn't think so. Wariness.

Still, Caleb is already so overloaded with anxiety and exhaustion, and the aftermath of his conversation with Astrid ( _Astrid_ ), all he can do is let Fjord’s words was over him, or his hands will not be still enough to cast.

But it works. As he is casting, Caleb counts the last seconds of his magical influence on Astrid – but the dome still forms. It should be at the very least not obvious from afar, and neither he nor Fjord is dead or missing yet, so maybe, maybe this might work.

“Get in quick,” is all Caleb says before finally dropping to his knees, safely concealed within the dome. Then, he slides to the side onto his backside.

He breathes for a moment. Maybe it worked. Caleb wonders if this is actually anything like what Molly felt like after talking his way out of a confrontation with his own past.  
Finally, whatever strength Caleb has left splinters and then shatters into a million pieces.

 

He feels a hand on his shoulder and jolts violently.

“Alright, easy now. Sorry,” says Fjord, standing somewhere vaguely behind him. “This is – this is pretty well what you were going for, right?”

Caleb opens his mouth. No words.  
He finally settles on a nod.  
“Shh.”

“Right,” Fjord whispers.

There is a long pause. Caleb tries to hear for commotion through the trees, but all he can hear is the thumping of his own heartbeat inside of his head.

“This isn’t invisible though, is it?” Fjord whispers again.

Caleb shakes his head.

“Sort of feels like we should have kept running.”

Caleb shakes his head more emphatically. Tries to breathe.

 

It takes another forty-three seconds for the pounding, throbbing anxiety to ease enough for Caleb to actually speak.

“She thinks,” he whispers, “She thinks I am powerful.”

“Aren’t you?”

Caleb turns around to face Fjord, who has sat down at some point, only a couple of feet away, and Caleb didn’t even notice.  
He doesn’t know how to answer this question except to shake his head.

“It was my gamble that Astrid would not recognise your magic,” he whispers instead. “It is not from a book. Not from a tutor. For all that she knows, you transported us to another city, another country – another dimension, perhaps.”

Fjord splutters.  
“What?”

Caleb shrugs, and breathes out shakily.  
“My hope is that, when her magic cannot penetrate the bubble to find you, she will assume you were in disguise and stop looking.”

“ _Find me?_ ”

Fjord’s eyebrows are raised high, and he sounds alarmed, which is of course entirely reasonable. Caleb can only shrug, his thoughts racing.

 

He can still see her face in his mind's eye. The same, and different after sixteen years. Now immeasurably powerful.

The Cerberus Assembly, Trent, Astrid, know he is out here. Astrid will presumably think he is powerful. They hopefully believe him to be beyond reach, for now, but...

They will know what he looks like now. And they know he is linked to the Mighty Nein.


	2. Stealth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the whirlwind of a confrontation with Astrid, Caleb steels himself for the fall-out.  
> He is no longer a party of one.

_“We have to go back and get Caleb!” Nott’s voice hisses, squeakier than usual as her anxiety has mounted._

_The group of them are somewhere in shadow, concealed. Still, Caleb is sure they are all there. There is no polymorph effect on Beauregard anymore; Caleb had been faintly aware of the thread of his transformative spell on her when it dropped, but at the time his focus had been completely swallowed up by the need to escape. Evidently, the sudden change of form from elf to human hadn’t caused too much trouble? She does not seem wounded at least._

_Caduceus is still in his human disguise, but he’s probably just forgotten to lift it._

_“Did it sound like he knew what he was doing?” asks Jester._

_There is a brief pause._

_“He was pretty firm…” says Caduceus._

_“Look, he clearly had a plan,” says Beauregard. “The question is whether it’s fucked up or not – I mean, outside of the obviously fucked up bit where he didn’t actually tell any of us what it was.”_

_“We have to save him!” Nott insists. “You heard the thunder go off! Fjord only does that in fights!”_

_“Caleb did not want to fight this woman,” says Caduceus._

_“Fjord and Caleb are together, aren’t they?” says Jester. “That’s at least something. They have some pretty cool tricks they can do…”_

_“_ Fjord and Caleb _are literally the two weakest people in this group!” Nott squeaks, and a couple of them hush her. “They are the worst ones to go out on their own,” she hisses, lowering her voice again. “And that spell was ages ago by now; oh Gods, what if Caleb is dead.”_

_Jester rubs Nott’s back, while Nott takes a swig from her flask.  
“I’m sure they’re fine, Nott,” she says, though her worry is still clear. “How about if I try to message Fjord again…?”_

 

 

Two hundred feet away, concealed in a bubble, a blind and deaf Caleb’s frown deepens.

“No, don’t message Fjord,” he mumbles.

It’s frustrating to watch this conversation without any means of contribution. Frumpkin is too far away, so Caleb can’t communicate with his familiar. He can only borrow Frumpkin’s senses and watch.

He feels Fjord move suddenly like he’s going to get up, but Caleb tightens his grip on the half-orc’s forearm. He blinks out of Frumpkin’s eyes.

“It’s because of the bubble, right?” says Fjord, pausing only momentarily. “Spells won’t get through? Come on, I’ll just duck out and I can respond to the message.”

“Not a chance, please do not to that,” says Caleb in one breath – though he does let go of Fjord’s arm, where his nails have left crescent marks. His muscles are still all tensed, his body cold with anxiety and dread, but he can’t go accidentally bruising team mates.

Fjord looks frustrated, climbing to his feet and rubbing his arm, but keeping well within the boundaries of the dome.  
“But – it’ll just take a second.”

“You know very well that Jester’s message spells are not over in ‘just a second’, Fjord.”

“Are you sure she’s even looking for us?” Fjord asks. “We haven’t seen a thing. I’ve even been watching the birds in case she’s got her own Frumpkin; everything seems perfectly normal.”

“There are arcane means by which to find a person,” says Caleb.

“Yeah, but you have to be pretty close,” says Fjord, though even as he is speaking, he seems to be changing his mind. He has to realise that Astrid’s magic is by far beyond Jester’s. “Or – well, I guess powerful wizards could be an exception to that rule…”

“A sufficiently powerful wizard can be the exception to any rule,” says Caleb coolly.

Fjord shakes his head with frustration, and drops back down to sit on the ground again, still in the centre of the dome, with his legs straight out in front of him.  
“‘Any’ seems a bit much, but I get your point,” he says.

“ _Any rule_ ,” Caleb insists, stone-faced.

Fjord’s brow is furrowed. After a moment, he starts-  
“What-”

But this is not a good line of conversation.  
“I am going back,” says Caleb.

He grabs the part of Fjord that is closest to him now – Fjord’s ankle – and his senses move out of his body, back to Frumpkin’s.

 

 

_“… a couple, so I do need to be careful,” Jester is saying. “Caduceus, can you send messages across a long distance too?”_

_“If I gave it some thought, I think I probably could. Not today though…”_

_“Okay, okay,” says Jester. She looks stressed, and nothing any of them has said or done seems to have made Nott any less frantic. “How about I try to message Fjord now, and then in a couple of minutes I will try to message Caleb. Fjord could have just been busy before, you guys. There are lots of possibilities for why he didn’t necessarily respond right away, necessarily.”_

_“Like being unconscious,” says Yasha._

_“Or dead!” adds Nott._

_“Or they are super focussed on kicking some butt!” Jester protests._

_Caleb can only see the edge of Beauregard’s face as Frumpkin appears to be slung around her shoulders.  
“Try Caleb instead. He responded to you, Nott, in code, in the middle of another conversation. The rest of us didn’t know what the hell was going on; we probably wouldn’t have answered.”_

_“We could just go back,” says Yasha. “It’s one woman and one teenager.”_

_Beauregard makes a discontented noise at this suggestion._

_“The teenager wasn’t real,” Caduceus explains vaguely._

_“I just feel like Caleb really wanted us to get out,” says Beauregard. “It was… deliberate. He went into, like, this whole other persona. This weird, commanding, asshole persona. I didn’t recognise it.” She pauses. “I swear, if it turns out he just didn’t want us there embarrassing him in front of his ex, I’ll punch his fucking face in.”_

_“Oh Beau, Caleb wouldn’t be embarrassed of you!” says Jester. “He loves you.”_

_“He’s pretty fond of us, I think,” Caduceus agrees._

 

 

As far as Caleb-through-Frumpkin’s-eyes can tell, none of them seem surprised by the ‘ex’ bit, so presumably his relationship history has already been discussed amongst the group. Caleb covers his face with his spare hand.

He feels Fjord poking him with the toe of one boot.

“They are fine. They are just… maddening,” Caleb says quietly by way of explanation, but doesn’t return to his own body. “… Deciding what to do…”

 

 

_“And also you guys, don’t we know Caleb is alive? He has to be, because Frumpkin is still here,” Jester says, pointing towards Frumpkin (or from Caleb’s perspective, Caleb, but Jester doesn’t know that). This thought seems to send a little ripple of relief around the group._

_Beau’s hand reaches up to pet Frumpkin, which is basically petting Caleb. It feels familiar and nice in an uncomfortable sort of way.  
“Doesn’t mean he’s conscious,” she says._

_“If Caleb’s alive, we can save him,” says Nott. She pauses, glancing around the group. “… And Fjord, obviously, if he’s not dead either.”_

_“I’ll message Caleb,” says Jester._

_Finally._

 

 

Caleb waits until it seems like Jester is about to cast the spell, and then pulls himself from Frumpkin’s vision and back into his own.

“Jester is going to message me,” he says quietly, letting go of Fjord’s ankle and darting over to the side of the dome to poke his head out.

“You know, I’m still completely in the dark here,” says Fjord, though from his tone of voice it’s clear he expects to be ignored.

Caleb ignores him.

It’s only moments later that he, gratefully, hears Jester’s voice ringing in his head.

“ _Hey Caleb!_ ” she says conversationally. “ _It’s Jester. Are you okay? Is Fjord okay too? Where are you guys, how are you going?_ ” Jester slows down and Caleb can envision her counting out the final words of the message. “ _We’re… hiding behind… a little building!_ ”

“ _We are fine. Behind the warehouse, hiding among trees_ ,” Caleb whispers back. “ _Don’t go back to the inn. Drop Caduceus’s disguise. Meet at the docks in one hour._ ”

 

Caleb pulls back into the dome. He still feels the gnaw of creeping dread under his skin – but on some level, at least, this is a relief.

He scoots back into the middle of the dome to grab Fjord’s ankle again and transport his senses back into Frumpkin – but before he can, Fjord is interjecting.

“Hold up, hey,” he says, pulling his leg back and crossing it over the other. “You can’t just sit here spying on them for next hour.”

Caleb just frowns at him.

“As you may recall, when the ‘dangerous magic’ at hand was mine, it was important to you to know what was going on – and now you now know as much as I do about my abilities.”

“I would be happy to explain the formation, memorisation, and utilisation of arcane symbols and components by those who choose to undertake rigorous study, Fjord, another time.”

Fjord is not amused.  
“I’m serious, Caleb,” he says firmly. He is not being aggressive per se, and it’s certainly nothing like Caleb’s bullying forcefulness earlier, but it is clear Fjord will not accept a deflection either. “Why can you stick your head out of the dome but I can’t? Who was that woman? Also, why are we hiding from her exactly? She seemed pretty fond of you. Give me something here, because I am lost.”

Caleb sighs. Breathes.

Fjord is one of the members of the Mighty Nein who has generally displayed an understanding that there can be limits and boundaries when it comes to a person’s choice to share information. This is likely because he himself clearly has his own issues he would rather not speak about, but still, it is a courtesy he has extended and one Caleb very much appreciates.

“I watched you tell a powerful wizard that you faked your own death, Caleb,” Fjord pushes. “Haven’t you made a point to never lie to powerful mages? Because that would mean – And you knew that kid wasn’t real before you shot him through the head, right?”

Despite all of it, Caleb feels a flicker of dark amusement.

“It was all illusory,” he says. “’The kid’ was not real. And I knew because… I know that woman in there. I used to know her quite well.”

“That one I did pick up.”

“Fjord, I really would like to make sure that the others have left, and that they are not in forms recognisable to Astrid,” says Caleb.

He also wants more time to think. He has hardly talked about Astrid, or anything connected to her, with anyone in the Mighty Nein. This is a difficult topic. It’s personal. Caleb never talks about difficult, personal things without spending the time constructing what he truly wants to say, lest it all be communicated wrongly.

 

What’s more, unlike when he had been bereft of any option but to share back in Felderwin, the rest of the group don’t actually need to know any of this. They will just want to. They will be curious about his life and his choices, and they will have questions. And that, Caleb reminds himself, is fair. It is justified. Fjord has just explained how and why it is justified, and the points he has made are sound.

“Alright. Check back – but this conversation is not over,” says Fjord.

Caleb swallows, but nods.  
“This conversation is not over,” he mutters in agreement.

Fjord leans back, propping himself up with his palms to the ground behind him, straightens his legs back out, and just watches.

Caleb holds onto Fjord’s ankle and jumps back into Frumpkin.

 

 

_“So that was three?” asks Beauregard. They are all looking worriedly at Jester, who is wringing her hands. “Was that the last time you could cast it today?”_

_Caleb runs through swear words, and their rough translations between languages, in his head. Of course, they want to talk more through that spell; they always want to talk more. He is an ignoramus._

_“No, but I think I can only do it one more time, and I might need it!” says Jester. “What if we can’t find them at the docks?”_

_“See, I’m thinking fuck the docks,” says Beauregard. Caleb can see both of her arms gesturing from his position atop her shoulder. Everyone else is a little harder to track, because Beauregard begins pacing restlessly. “Fucking Caleb doesn’t get to just decide for us what we’re going to do. And what’s happened to Fjord?”_

_Oh, for Heaven sake._

_“They are the least sneaky out of all of us,” says Nott worriedly. “If they can hide in the trees, so can we… But, no, Caleb would have had a good reason for sending us away and then going silent – and Caduceus, Jester said Caleb wants you to drop your disguise!”_

_“Oh, right,” says Caduceus as his appearance reforms into that of a firbolg._

_“Nah, fuck the docks,” says Yasha. “I want to know what’s going on.”_

_“Fuck those docks,” Jester agrees._

_“Okay, but we can’t go the direct route past the warehouse,” says Nott warily. “We’ll have to double around – and be very sneaky.”_

 

 

Caleb comes back to himself, jaw tense, and snaps his fingers to make Frumpkin appear in his lap. He hopes the momentary shock of Frumpkin’s disappearance will piss Beauregard off. Caleb clearly has more information than them; he knows he is correct, and he has given them the best course of action for their own, as well as he and Fjord’s, wellbeing. They have just chosen to ignore it.

Frumpkin stands up in his lap, and walks around in a circle twice, searching for the most comfortable position. He settles back in the same spot he’d been in to begin with, but now it’s apparently better. Frumpkin is the very best cat.

 

Caleb knows that Fjord is watching him expectantly, and tries to think of how best to speak.

“They are coming to find us,” he settles on eventually. “There were… not fans of my plan to meet later.”

“Oh – shit, that’s bad, right?” says Fjord.

“It is… not ideal.” Caleb swallows, uneasy. “But you know, if I am correct and that wizard did not know what to make of your Eldritch power – and if you are correct and she is not looking for us in this area, it… might be okay? Perhaps our friends will take this seriously enough to be very careful, and travel very inconspicuously.”

Feeling fidgety, Caleb buries both of his hands in Frumpkin’s fur for the moment. His whole mental scape feels like billowing winds, empty space, and distant, echoing screaming, and he does not have time to wait for that to pass. He tries to focus on the warmth of his cat against his fingertips.

“I will need to send you off,” Caleb tells Frumpkin, stalling just a bit. “You will need to find them for me, and bring them back here, quickly, and quietly.”

Frumpkin gives a little chirp, and Caleb scritches his fluffy cheeks.

Fjord is still just watching.

Caleb silently tells Frumpkin to keep out of sight, and head out and scan for the Mighty Nein. To one side of the warehouse, there is an expansive farm growing what looked to Caleb like maize, separated from the next property over by a wooded area, so he thinks he can predict roughly what path Nott will want to take. Caleb has known her for a long while; he is familiar with her mind. She will at least lead them on a tactical route, and recognise what Frumpkin is there for.

Caleb watches as his cat darts away from he and Fjord in the dome, and off through the trees.

There is a long pause. Fjord remains silent. Caleb has already promised the conversation will go on, after all, so he presumably knows he does not need to prosecute this point any further.

 

“Has anything moved?” asks Caleb finally, very softly. “Anything at all, in our surroundings?”

He looks at the trees around them, and they all appear normal. Caleb had managed to choose a spot for the dome that would not intersect any of the trees, and it really should not stand out. The test will be when the others arrive, he supposes. There are no visible animals, no strange shadows, and he can’t spot any suspicious movement.

“Nothing,” says Fjord. “Two bees went by at one point? But they didn’t stay; I think they were just bees. Even the wind is still blowing the same way.”

Caleb automatically frowns. The interior of the dome is unaffected by the weather outside, including wind currents.

“… And I know that because I have been watching the leaves of these trees while you’ve been spying on our friends. Give me some credit here.”

Caleb nods apologetically. Fjord’s expression is serious, but not accusatory, his yellow eyes still largely trained on Caleb. Caleb tries to force his insides to relax, even just a bit, as feverish anxiety makes it hard to think, let alone speak. He wishes Nott were here. Or even Beauregard. Mournfully wishes he could have kept Frumpkin.

 

“It is… better for me to poke my head out of the dome, because it is far less of a risk,” he tells Fjord at long last, in a near whisper. “I am less likely to be detected… I have ah – a layer of defense that you do not.”

Fjord raises his eyebrow, and Caleb reaches under his shirt collar to pull out the pendant, small, unassuming, and utterly vital.

“Oh.” Fjord’s tone is slightly softer, the crease on his forehead easing, and he matches Caleb’s volume. “I guess I knew that was special – figured it was probably something magical, but…”

“It means they cannot find me,” whispers Caleb. “With their arcane tricks. With their spells. They cannot find me, or track me. It is my hope that Astrid has not become familiar enough with you that she could track you. That your image is not adequately affixed within her memory.” He looks down at the pendant before tucking it back into his shirt. “Astrid will be… well practiced by now, with visualisation, and imagination. But she is not gifted in either regard.”

“Right,” says Fjord thoughtfully.

“Once your disguise had dropped, I tried to keep myself and only myself in her line of sight. Ah. Aggressively, when need be.”

He stops there, uncomfortable and not sure why Fjord isn’t saying anything. When he looks up, Fjord staring in the direction of the warehouse, though it is of course out of view. He turns back to look at Caleb.  
“I didn’t meet her eye. Figured I should watch you, for cues.”

Caleb nods.  
“That was wise.”

“Listen Caleb, I don’t need to tell anybody that you two had a more than friendly history,” says Fjord. “I was the only one left when that… came up. Seems like it don’t really impact the rest of us, I don’t need to make it anyone’s business. Especially since you’re already going to get grilled to hell.”

Caleb feels an unexpected extra burst of affection. He thinks he maybe smiles.  
“They have already deduced our previous involvement,” he murmurs. “But thank you, Fjord.”

Fjord winces.  
“Sorry.”

“It is my own fault,” says Caleb, shrugging one shoulder. Fjord presses his toes against Caleb’s knee again sympathetically, in a way that makes him think Fjord would hope the favour would be returned, were their positions ever reversed. “Do you-” He stops himself. “None of my business.”

“You want to check on your cat?”

Caleb nods and wraps his hand around Fjord’s ankle before transporting his senses to Frumpkin.

 

_It’s difficult, in part because Frumpkin is so small. Caleb presumes that Frumpkin is in the correct wooded area, between the maize fields and the backs of the properties of this street, but his cat cannot look over the bushes, and the canopy is so thick that the level of light doesn’t help either._

_Frumpkin is still scoping, still looking, and Caleb is beginning to regret his hot-headed decision to call his familiar back so soon._

 

“Nothing yet,” says Caleb, as he blinks, back to the dome.

Fjord is looking up thoughtfully, to the faint shimmer of magic that lets them know where the dome’s limits are.

“So, this dome blocks the divination,” says Fjord.

“Ja. It blocks all magic.”

“But you already have that pendant. If you ran-”

“I must remain in the dome, or it will disappear,” says Caleb slowly. “You would be unprotected and they would find us.”

“Seems like you’d be safest if we were to split ways.”

Fjord’s tone is observational, though Caleb knows he can be hard to read when he wants to be.  
“That is a possibility.”

“I appreciate you keeping me safe.”

 _‘You are useful,’_ Caleb is tempted to say, defensive of his strategic judgement. _‘I am out of that warehouse, alive. You have just demonstrated your usefulness.’_

He is quiet for a few moments before instead murmuring,  
“I do not want to see any of us hurt, if it can be helped.”

Fjord nods.

“I’m with you there.”

Caleb studies his face for a moment.  
“In any case, it has gotten to the point where you could hurt me a great deal, were you captured. That has been the case for a while now.” Fjord tilts his head to the side, watching him back, and it feels awkward in an unfamiliar way. “With all of you,” he adds, “that is the case with all of you.”

 

Fjord nods slowly.  
“Caleb, I’m just thinking,” he says slowly, uncertainly, “And hear me out here. I’m just thinking, what if I borrow your necklace?”

“No.” Eye contact is broken again, and Caleb looks over Fjord’s shoulder.

“Just for now,” Fjord tries to reassure him, as if the vast expanse inside of Caleb’s mind hadn’t just expanded and filled with a poisonous, low-toned hiss. “I could head out, find the others, and get them back here real fast? Or send them off on their way, I guess, if that’s the better plan… And you could stay hidden in the dome.”

“No, thank you.”

“Well, why not?” says Fjord. “Frumpkin’s not getting anywhere trying to find them.”

His words are slightly louder than they have been previously, and Caleb shushes him.

“Why not?” Fjord repeats in a whisper. “If there’s one thing you’re good at, it’s making a person feel like there’s danger about, and I don’t like not being able to communicate with the others. And this dome blocks everyone’s magic, you said that yourself, that’s why it’s here, so you’d be safe.”

Caleb swallows.  
“A sufficiently powerful wizard… can be the exception to any rule to any rule.”

Fjord huffs slightly, nodding towards Caleb’s chest.  
“Doesn’t the same go for your ‘extra layer of defense’, then?”

Caleb’s head aches, and he rubs his knuckles over his itchy left arm.

Thirteen seconds pass in silence.

“This is mine,” he says lowly, warningly and, presses his hand over the pendant where it is hidden against his collarbone.

“Caleb-”

“All it would take would be for you to fall and split your head open on a tree root, or for my magic to flicker, and the next thing I know I am in a cell with my skin and muscles being ripped from my caustic bones.”

Caleb grits his teeth and says no more, looking down at the ground bitterly and cursing himself. Astrid’s face is back in his mind, the perfect recollection of freckle, every line, the new and the familiar. The feeling of her hand on his collar.

“That was… very graphic,” says Fjord. He sounds perturbed, but it’s hard to tell without looking at his face.

He shifts towards Caleb slightly, or seems to, and Caleb automatically presses the pendant to his chest and jolts backwards.  
“It’s _mine_ ,” he tells Fjord, not sure if it comes across as blistering or desperate.

Fjord looks alarmed, having just sat up from leaning on his hands, and crosses his legs. He brushes his hands together to be rid of the dirt he had been leaning on, and raises them a little again, as he did in the warehouse, surrendering.

“I know, I respect that,” he agrees. “Caleb, I’m not – I wouldn’t try to take your stuff.”

Caleb swallows, and lowers his hand, forcing the built-up tension and paranoia to curl back down inside.  
“Ah – yes. Of course not.”

“I just like to be useful.”

“I know, Fjord, I am sorry.”

 

There is a long pause. The dome has never felt smaller or more constrictive.

 

“Astrid. Did she – do something to you?” asks Fjord warily.

“Quite the opposite,” says Caleb. “Quite the opposite.”

Before Fjord can decide to ask any more questions, Caleb shuffles closer and sits next to him in the middle of the dome, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

“I am going to check on Frumpkin again.”

 

 

_There is still nothing at all to see. The trees are a bit thicker than Caleb had realised, and the shadows longer, and he cannot see anything of interest at all through Frumpkin’s eyes. He even wonders whether his cat may have gotten lost somehow – but no, there is still maize off to the right._

_“I am just watching,” he says softly to Fjord. “In case there are tracks or signs. Shake me if you need me for anything.”_

_Fjord pats his hand gently, and Caleb takes that to mean he will comply._

_Caleb has little to gain from keeping his senses here in his familiar; there is nothing to see. Maybe the group have changed their minds, or (he thinks with a chilly dread) gotten themselves caught somehow._

_Still, when his senses are not with his body, he has an excellent excuse not to talk to Fjord, and Caleb knows he needs to plan what he is going to say when he sees the group because Beauregard is probably going to elbow him in the gut for telling her what to do._

_As his eyes scan vaguely over the green vista, he drafts in his head what he will say, while another part of his mind occupies itself with theorising about what this all means. Caleb is painfully aware that ‘Iris Trimble’ was a contact recommended by Gentleman – so does that mean the Gentleman has gotten in bed with the Cerberus Academy, or have they pulled one over on him? Perhaps there is a real Iris Trimble, and the Assembly has recruited or removed her._

 

 

It is eight minutes and twenty-four seconds later when Caleb feels Fjord’s shoulder move slightly, his hand grabs the back of Caleb’s neck to gently shake him out of Frumpkin’s senses.

Caleb immediately blinks out of it.

“-think that’s them,” Fjord is whispering.

“Where?” Caleb hisses.

Caleb follows where Fjord points, and sure enough the shadows are moving over there. He actually isn’t convinced it’s their friends until a shock of pink catches the sun, unmistakably Caduceus.

“Did you see that?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” says Fjord, finally removing his hand from Caleb’s neck. “Definitely them.”

Caleb summons Frumpkin back immediately, not into the bubble but about thirty feet out, so he will be able to lead them in the right direction.

 

It’s a little gratifying how much trouble they have finding the dome; apparently, Caleb had actually found a good spot where a plain mound of colour would not stand out. Any positive feelings are more than balanced out, though, by worry as he watches this veritable troop of people only a brief walk away from the building where Astrid had been. The rest of the Mighty Nein weave between trees and shadows, and make it, Nott in the lead, over to Fjord and Caleb’s hiding spot.

Caduceus enters first, his expression lighting up as his head passes through the brown-grey barrier.

“Well, hey,” he says with a smile. “You are alright.”

Caleb hushes him. Fjord shuffles back, closer to an edge of the dome to give the group more space, and Caleb stays next to him, backing up as well. Nott enters, then Yasha and Beauregard, and finally Jester.

They stack in, and Caleb ignores the persistent knowledge within his head of how damn stupid it is to have every member the Mighty Nein this unnecessarily close to where Astrid is based. He sends Frumpkin up the closest tree to keep watch (and to avoid sparking Fjord’s allergies), and closes in on himself as everybody gets comfortable.

The silence is… well, it’s awkward. And Caleb usually enjoys silence.

 

“So,” says Beauregard after a few long moments. “How fucked are we?”

“Keep it down,” Fjord whispers.

“Sorry we didn’t wait for you miles away from the action,” Beauregard whispers guardedly, but Caleb can tell she is not trying to be cruel (at least he is as sure as he can be with her).

“What happened?” asks Jester.

Caleb’s head feels overstuffed, but he has had time to think about how to speak about this. Now that he has something prepared, he tells himself he will be fine. And honestly, it does help to have someone 'on his side', so to speak. The fact that it is Fjord this time is an odd quirk, but it works.  
“Are you sure you were not followed here?” he whispers.

Jester, Caduceus, Yasha, Beauregard, and Nott (who is now sitting next to Caleb’s left knee, while Fjord is to his right) look between each other.

“Pretty sure,” says Beauregard.

The whole group spend a moment looking around the dome for anything, any movement.

“It’s the same, I swear it’s the same,” says Fjord. “I’ve been trying to find changes in this spot for the last hour-”

“Thirty-seven minutes,” murmurs Caleb.

“It is the same,” Fjord repeats.

“I don’t see anything,” Caduceus confirms.

Caleb nods slowly, licking his lips. Okay.

 

“Please tell us what happened, Caleb,” says Jester. “Beau said it was Astrid.”

Caleb finds himself glancing at Fjord, who has straightened his back warily. Nott is twisting her fingers.

“That ah – that is correct,” Caleb says carefully, and very softly. “What is most important though, Jester – what is important is that we came upon someone I knew from school. Someone who is now with the Cerberus Assembly. And she was terribly powerful, and we had to get out of there.”

There is a moment of quiet.

“Normal school or creepy Trent school?” asks Jester gently.

Caleb winces, clasping his hands together uncomfortably. It still gets to him, in a way he wishes it did not. She says his name without affection, without respect, and without even the courtesy of fear; if that is to be the case, can’t they at least call him Ikithon?

He says none of this though, knows it’s nonsensical and will draw more questions than it answers.

“The second ah – well, both,” he answers quietly, truthfully. “I recognised her magic. Astrid… she is talented, so very skilled. She always was, but now – I cannot comprehend of the magic we saw today. But she does not make unique illusions. She copied it all, from places I know. I knew the furniture, and the books. I…” He hesitates. “The dagger on the table, I recognise. I once used it to cut her hair. My spellbook was there too; I don’t know why. But I knew it was her and none of it was real, and we needed to leave. I knew the boy was not real when I saw the room,” he adds, since Fjord had asked that earlier.

“You could have just stayed in disguise,” says Beauregard. “Couldn’t you? If you didn’t say anything, she couldn’t recognise your voice…”

“She is an _illusion specialist_ , Beauregard,” murmurs Caleb.

“So she could-?”

“I have no idea!” Caleb interrupts. Too loud. Too loud. He quiets himself, looking nervously around the inanimate trees outside. “I have no idea what she is capable of at this point.”

"Right," says Beauregard. She hesitates. "Sorry."

“Would she try to hurt you?” asks Nott quietly. “Will she? You were close, weren’t you?”

Caleb smiles sadly at Nott.  
“It doesn’t matter, Nott,” he says. _‘She doesn’t love me more than she loved her parents’_ , he wants to add, but that would not make sense to many of them. “I am… a traitor now. I think if Astrid had known I was alive and what I have become… If I was very lucky, I would be dead by now.”

Everybody seems uncomfortable at this pronouncement.

 

“Did you fake your death?” asks Beauregard.

“What?” squeaks Nott.

“Oh yeah,” says Caduceus. “That was a surprise.”

Caleb shakes his head.  
“Of course not,” he mutters.

“Did she say you were dead Caleb, why would she say that?” Jester seems altogether too entranced by all of this.

“I don’t know,” says Caleb. “I have been hiding from these people. But she seemed to believe it. She seemed…” He hesitates, searching for the words. “Appropriately stricken. Very hurt.”

“Do you think she still loves you?” asks Jester.

Caleb tilts his head, looks at her with affection.  
“No.”

“Do you still love her?”

“No.”

“Of course he doesn’t,” says Beauregard, at least partially to herself. “He walked into the room, ordered us to shut up, and just started reaming her.”

Caleb clenches his jaw. Apparently this had not been discussed among the group, because Nott, Jester, and Yasha look confused.

“What?” says Nott.

“Why would you do that?” asks Jester.

“She did seem pretty upset,” says Caduceus unhelpfully.

“We needed to get out,” Caleb tells them softly. “She was hiding…”

“So you yell at her?” says Beauregard, raising an eyebrow. “Pretty risky way of getting someone to feel comfortable and come out of hiding.”

Caleb rubs one of his temples.  
“I didn’t – it was not in our interests for Astrid to feel ‘comfortable’, Beauregard.”

“Guys, remember we are hiding right now,” says Fjord very softly.

Caleb gives a grateful nod; even his own voice could stand to be lowered.  
“I needed to have Astrid within my sight to know she was not casting,” he tells Beauregard and the rest of them softly. “I had to make her take down the illusons; what if there had been someone else there?”

There is another pause.

“Caleb,” says Caduceus.

“Yes.”

“I don’t know if this is a silly question… How did you know this lady would do what you ordered her to do?”

Caleb swallows thickly, curls in a bit more.

“What does that mean?” asks Nott. “What he ‘ordered’?”

“I told you, Caleb went straight-up domineering asshole,” says Beauregard.

“Beau…” says Fjord slowly.

“He did!” Beauregard insists. “‘Do this immediately’, ‘no time for your shit’, so fucking condescending.”

“Caleb isn’t like that!” Jester objects, seeming genuinely shocked.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m saying it was fucking weird,” says Beauregard. “Fjord, Caduceus and I all pretended it was normal at the time though, duh,” she adds defensively. "I - that didn't come out right, I was just really surprised and I don't get it." She pauses. "I was - am - worried."

They fall into silence, and eyes slowly turn to Caleb. He swallows. Constructs sentences in his head.  
“Sometimes,” he says slowly, “When you are trained to do something, like… taking direction from a certain person…” He trails off, voice lowering even further. “That instinct can take over even in the most extreme of circumstances.”

Silence again, and Caleb is looking directly down now. This day, everything about it, it’s just…

“Wait, are you saying you were her boss?” asks Beauregard. Caleb shakes his head; it’s not _like_ that. “That’s… that’s got to be really unhealthy.”

“The point is, I am sorry I ordered you around,” says Caleb. “I am sorry, but I had to remove you and Caduceus from the situation before Astrid looked too closely, I had to avoid disillusioning her about how powerful I am most assuredly _not_ , and I had to overwhelm a wizard far more powerful than myself; I had to convince her I had access to Eldritch powers beyond her understanding or I could not have gotten away, and to do that I needed to draw upon every tool I had at my disposal.”

“Tools, huh,” says Beauregard.

Caleb sinks his head into his hands. Why could they not have just gone to the docks.  
“Beauregard...”

“I’m just saying, that’s cold.”

“And it is now more than forty minutes later and we are still alive and we are still free,” Caleb hisses, looking back up at her and feeling like his insides might combust; Beauregard is so good at poking just the wrong spot to make his fear and anxiety curdle and spiral in frustration and conflict. “What were my choices, Beauregard? Astrid would not have taken any one of you people seriously from the moment you opened your mouths!”

Beauregard rears up.  
“Caduceus _brought me back from the dead_ , fucker,” she growls back. "We're meant to be a team here."

“You are missing the point!”

“Hey, hey,” Fjord interjects. “Hey. Quiet. Caleb, you're the one who's saying we have to be quiet.”

Caleb falls silent, runs his hands through his hair.

“So that's how you got out," says Beauregard. "You made out that Fjord's powers were crazy powerful, and you were crazy powerful enough to be in charge of that. Doesn't that piss you off at all?”

There is no answer to that. It's exactly what happened. The only thing Beauregard is leaving out is the fact that Caleb could have gotten Fjord out earlier with the others, but chose not to for the sake of his own escape.

Fjord seems to consider the point seriously, and Caleb doesn’t look but knows he is being looked at.  
“Honestly no,” says Fjord. “And not just because I’m the dumbass who lifted his disguise and now the Cerberus Assembly might know my face.”

“What?” says Beauregard flatly.

“Oh no, Fjord!” exclaims Jester.

“Shh! Hush,” whispers Fjord. “It’s complicated, is all I’m saying. The question is what to do now, and Beau I know it’s not ideal, but what the hell do most of us know about wizards? Especially these wizards?”

Caleb looks up. He can feel his face burning, and his insides are a wreck – but this is still smoother than he’d expected this to go. Nobody has hit him, at least, and it has remained impressively quiet, considering.

“Just one more question,” says Beauregard.

Caleb gestures with one hand for her to go ahead.

“Say we could have taken her out.”

“You realise do you not that a creature does not need to be a demigod to be beyond our-”

“ _Say_ ,” Beauregard repeats, “we could have taken her out. Hypothetically. Would you want to?”

Caleb sighs.  
“Astrid is…” He hesitates. “She is not – not so good,” he says. “In the same way that I am not so good. But no, I do not wish any harm upon her.”

“Even if she might want to kill you?” asks Nott.

Caleb laughs darkly under his breath.  
“Oh, she will want that very much by this point, my friend,” he tells Nott, rubbing her shoulder. “It is okay though. Just one more.”

Nobody aside from Nott ever really seems to know how to process that kind of sentiment, even though by this point they still all technically have an Empire’s worth of people who would like to see them dead.

 

“That’s the spirit, I guess,” says Fjord. He clears his throat. “So, what do we do next then?”

“I need to do some research on Divination magic,” says Caleb immediately. “I have some ideas about how to hide you, but they are just fruitless ideas if my understanding of the arcane is incorrect. Astrid may not be a gifted Diviner, but... there will be one involved by now.”

“We have to find out if the Gentleman knew about this,” says Jester. “What if the Cerberus Assembly has our blood, you guys?”

Everyone looks uncomfortable at that idea.  
“I do not think it is likely, or surely they would have already found us,” Caleb murmurs. “But you are right, we should look into it.”

“Should we get out of Port Damali?” Beauregard asks the group. “I mean we just got here. Like, yesterday afternoon.”

“I don’t think it matters so much, to be honest with you,” says Caleb slowly. “But I think we will need to be very careful, with what we call ourselves. We have been reckless.”

“What do you mean?” asks Fjord slowly.

“The Crownsguard, all of Zadash, the Myriad, the Krynn, and now the Cerberus Assembly, all know us as the Mighty Nein,” says Caleb. “I told Astrid I hired us, but some of those groups will surely begin to trade notes soon, if they have not done so already.”

 

Caleb knows this isn’t over. There will be more questions to come, and he doesn’t know how he is going to answer any of them.

The pendant feels heavier around his neck now too, somehow.

Tension rises inside of his own mind and likely Fjord’s until the dome is dispelled. Caleb had calculated that the most optimal time to remain inside was just over an hour (enough time for Astrid to exhaust most of the arcane methods of tracking, but hopefully not enough to resort to simply combing the area).

But when the spell dissipates, there is no sudden onslaught of Assembly wizards, alerted by the sudden appearance of Fjord outside of a magical field. There are no guards waiting, when they reach a different inn, and Caleb hides them away again in a magically protected dome shortly after that. Two, four, twelve hours later they are still alive.

He hopes Astrid didn’t get into too much trouble for letting him get away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading - and feedback and thumbs ups are always super duper appreciated. =]
> 
> If you want to come hang with me on tumblr, come find me!  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ophelialmx


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